Havok in Vietnam
by Invisible Pheebs
Summary: After Cuba, what once could of been a great team crumbled. Then, America crumbled with it. Havok ran away to Vietnam as though it could be his new solitary. But there, laying in a hospital bed, he didn't expect to meet his Marilyn Monroe. Well, Marilyn Monroe if she had a chip on her shoulder and venom in her lips. But maybe, just maybe this was something that'd actually go his way
1. Introduction

**Havok in Vietnam**  
><span><strong>Chapter One - Introduction<strong>

After Cuba, they had crumbled. Magneto, Raven, Angel and Azazel went on their own way. Charles went to hospital - the American ships flew him there. Beast - Hank - went with him, lingering like Charles was a ball and guilt was his chain. Banshee hung around, for a while. Alex went with them, it was better than solitary, at any rate.

But the world crumbled with them. Kennedy died, two years later. Magento was in prison - finally - but then suddenly the USA were 23,000 military "advisers" in Vietnam and not a damn thing was being done. Three years later 100,000 US soldiers were out there in the fields. Two years after that. Well. 485,000 soldiers, and too many dead boys for the public to sit back and take it any longer. Protest, riots. 18,129 sons, brothers and fathers that would never come home.

It was in 1968, that Alex Summers went to join them. Fireworks in Time Square turned to kerosene bombs and flames so thick you choked on them from the camps. Kissing strangers at midnight became killing them - bullets and cosmic energy ripping through the grass and sending civilians and soldiers up in flames. But Alex had known he had to get out of the mansion. Charles was crumbling, relying on Hank to hold himself upright when the whiskey took him out of his wheelchair. Students had been packed into big vans with canvas roofs and driven away - down the drive and out of sight. There had been nothing the professor could do to stop them. Banshee had gone to - gone to get a better job, though that didn't last too long. But Alex had always had to keep himself first - and though Havok left with the night as his cover, and with his socks muffling the sound of his footsteps as he went through the front door, Charles' blue eyes burned guilty holes into his soul. But, at least he'd lasted this long. Still, Alex couldn't tie himself to a sinking ship.

Well, he could.

Perhaps that'd been why Alex volunteered himself to the war. He'd missed solitary. There was still that niggling feeling in his head that told Alex he was no better than Magneto. He deserved to be locked under the Pentagon but those fuckers in the secret service said he was no longer a threat. _Thanks Moira._ So perhaps, he'd have to rely on the government for some other outlet that requited him with that long lost love of being locked up. Though, he'd swap four concrete walls for that canvas tent and wide open fields. Burning villages and screaming children. In the end, it all gave Alex that sinking guilty feeling that made his bones hollow and mind heavy. He'd always known he wasn't doing the right thing, or the easiest thing. But it was the safest thing. The safest thing for him.


	2. November 12th, 1972

**Havok in Vietnam**  
><span><strong>Chapter Two - November 12th, 1972<strong>

They'd been trying to recapture Binh Dinh, and more specifically, Quong Tri. But by the end of September, they'd lost the battles, Quong Tri lay in rubble, and Alex Summers lay in a hospital bed. He'd not intended to be here, really, when the crate of fireworks exploded around him, Alex would rather hoping that he'd face some flaming... no, glory wasn't the right word. Yet, neither was escape. He didn't know the word for it. But Alex hadn't intended to end up in a hospital bed, burns down his left side, covering almost half his torso and it even managed to scar his ass. Luckily, he'd managed to cover his face, and sleeves hid those burns on his arms. At least, his pretty face - if he'd ever stop frowning - was left in tact to scowl another day.

Everything was white and clean. He'd yelled at the nurses for long enough that they'd decided to wrap the curtain around his bed and leave him be. He didn't want to talk to anyone else anyway. There were other mutants out here, he'd seen them. Been forced to share a bunk house with them. Not that he minded. At least other mutants held a chance against him, should Havok ever of lost his temper. But it was happening less and less - he'd noticed. Somewhere between Charles' early faith in him and the violence of war all around him, Alex seemed to of found some kind of outlet. Instead, he was now just bitter. Like a harsh lemon or cold steel. His mind clean and slowly a furor bubbled away.

He didn't like being in the hospital bed. It stopped him from being _out there, _in the field. Stopped him from hurling cosmic energy back out at the enemy. Then again, to them, he was the enemy. War was complicated. Alex wasn't looking for some divine purpose. He wasn't looking to fight for his country. Really, Alex had no loyalty to them, but they served his interests, so for now, he'd stay.

It was snowing outside, and laying there, with a rock for a pillow underneath him, Alex felt colder than a polar bears nipple. Though predictable, he hated it. Slowly, painfully, he tried to shift under the sheets that rattled like plastic each time he moved. Those sheets were still and uncomfortable, Alex could of sworn they were made out of some kind of plastic he he hadn't seen one be torn apart in some other patient's fury. He supposed it saved on cleaning. Alex could of accused the nurses of being damn lazy if he didn't know any better. But he did know better, because every day they'd come in and check his bandages. Deliver Mail. Give him a bath. Usher him to the rec room. Usher him to the cafeteria. It was as military in here - this place of respite and relaxation - as it was out there, with drills and whistles and officers who liked to watch their split slide down your nose. It established dominance, in their eyes. Alex thought they were just assholes.

The blonde mutant craned his neck to try and let his blue eyes see above the curtain, to the clock. Perhaps if they got another pillow, he'd see it better. Perhaps if he wasn't so rude, they'd open the curtain. But the minute hand was getting closer to the hour, which meant he couldn't of been awake for too long. Between the Army and prison, Alex was an early riser - 8am was practically a lie-in. Falling back onto the pillow, Alex shut his eyes briefly and tried to remember the order of the day. Nurses made their rounds in shifts every half an hour. Two or three stayed at the desk to sleep or take in new arrivals, and one would take that half an hour walk around the ward, with his bed as one of the last stops. Alex was lucky, he supposed. At least he got to lay his head and marred body in a burns ward. Bullet wounds weren't the priority here. The nurses were better equipped to deal with infection and scarring. But the shuffling of shoes growing slowly louder meant that it was either the end of another rotation of rounds or...

Post.

A nurse walked in, eyes down and reading over the thin pile of brown envelopes held between her hands. She was new - or at least Alex hadn't seen her before. She was young - maybe a year or so younger than he. She was thin. Wearing a one of those white nurse dresses that didn't quite come to her knee... more like her middle thigh. Then again, she had legs as long as runway tracks, so maybe nothing fit her. What struck Alex as odd was the army jacket she had draped over her shoulders. It was like his - well, the one he had folded into a pile on top of the rest of his uniform in the cupboard - but it couldn't of been hers. Not unless her name was Blacker. The nurse lifted her head, tucked some of that white blonde hair out of her face - it should of been tied up anyway - and revealed to him a soft, makeup-less face that looked more asleep than it did awake. "You've got mail" she stated - though it was pretty obvious - before she held out her hand with the brown envelope.

"Thanks" was the half mumbled reply that she got from Alex, who all but snatched it out of her hand with an aggressive swipe of his hand. His eyes scanned the front, and the nurse offered him one last utterance before she left the room, dragging her feet back down the hall,

"That looks important, it's not a friendly letter" Alex was about to open his lips to give some variation of "no shit" but she was gone. The curtains were shut behind her and Havok was left alone with his thoughts and the brown letter - which had begun to feel particularly heavy in his hands.

He ripped it open in his hands, tearing through the top of the envelop to look at the faded paper that lingered within. Carelessly, the brown outer layer found itself on the floor, not three inches from the tin trash can. As he unfolded the letter, Alex could tell straight away who the letter was from: it was Hank. Considering that nerd had a furry blue monster lingering just centimeters from the surface, Hank sure did have writing neater than a goddamn typewriter. Alex's steely blue eyes scanned the writing;

_Alex,_

_Hope you're doing well out there. Can't say that anything here is any better than since you left. Charles still drinks. The mansion lies in ruins. _

_Banshee is dead._

_ According to the official report, it was some kind of natural death. Whispers around here say otherwise. Charles refuses to openly acknowledge Sean's death, only continues to find his solace in whiskey. He won't confirm it, but we think Trask Industries were involved. Something big is coming, trust no one._

_Hank. _

Suddenly all that anger that Alex had felt bubbling and slowly stewing in his stomach was beginning to rear it's head. That furor in his bones was beginning to rise until an agonized, unintelligible scream was all that he could do to try and deal with those pangs of grief which began to stab their way through his chest. The nurse from before - Blacker - she pushed her way through the curtains, certainly more awake now that she had been. Alex thrashed in his bed, hitting his arms against the worn mattress before she wrapped bony fingers around his wrists, trying to pin him down.

Alex thrashed harder, and she pushed back against him with surprising force for a woman who looked like she hadn't eaten a hot meal in her life. Various mixtures of "shhhhh" spread from her lips as though he were a rowdy toddler, but had no luck in calming him. Alex's closed fist was alright with red energy - with his phasers set to stun - and then the nurse was pushed off of him, left to scramble and grab at the curtain to keep herself upright. The crimson flash of his powers had briefly lit up her white dress as though it'd been soaked in blood and left her blinded and dazed. Alex could see it in her eyes as she rose again, the softness in his face replaced by a scowl that was cold enough to match his own pained expression. But he didn't care. Shaking, shuddering breaths ripped through Alex's chest.

The nurse rose again from where she'd been holding her body weight against the curtain, staring with a burning irritation was she walked closer to him again - and either she wasn't afraid that outburst or was damn good at hiding any hesitation - before she crouched to pick up the brown envelope and move it back those three inches so it fell into the trash. The letter itself had turned to ash in his hands after that outburst, paper itself seemed less resilient than people even when Alex was trying to do minimal damage. But it didn't matter, those words in Hank's neat print were seared into Alex's mind and they would be until he finally got lucky enough to ascend from everything and be done with this shithole.

She stood to her full height, and there was a sarcasm and venom dripping from her tone as she asked him, "Do you need help with those ashes or can you tidy them yourself?"

Alex gave her a grunt in return, and turned his face away from her, so that he could stare pointedly into the white curtain and wait for her to leave. The nurse lingered, and took one small breath as though she would speak again. But silence, the unnatural kind that followed loud noises such as screaming or shell fire, was the only thing that washed through the ward; and then she was gone. The curtain was drawn with a pointed ring and Alex was left alone, again. As he always was.

The world had shifted beneath his feet so rapidly, and Alex knew it had changed because he had that feeling of motion sickness and his stomach was bunched up in his throat. Tears pricked in the back of his eyes but Havok refused to let them fall. Through his nose, Alex sucked in a snotty sniffle, trying to swallow that lump in his throat and the drumming - hammering - in his ears. He didn't bare to blink away the tears, afraid of what red haired Banshee would be waiting for him if he dared let his mind focus on anything except the clinical white and army greens around him.


	3. November 15th, 1972

**Havok in Vietnam  
>Chapter 3 - 15th November 1972<strong>

Three days later and Alex still hadn't shifted that weight. That heavy numbness which sat in his stomach and weighted his heart like lead. Grief - that's what the group therapist called it. After his ... _outburst, _the nurses made sure that he went to the group sessions, since obviously there was never going to be enough therapists to go around. But they covered it up with some spiel about how being in group sessions helped their communication skills - there was no one on one in the real life and blah blah blah. But they called it grief, and the other grieving men had told him it was natural, that it would pass. His world would stop feeling like it was in free fall, and one day his heart would come back out of his throat and to sit back in his chest where it was meant to.

But Alex wasn't too sure that he wanted to go back to normal. His normal had been shit. Banshee... _Sean... _was a friend. Alex didn't have a habit of making too many of those. He'd never really liked Charles, man was too... too professor. Charles Xavier tried too hard to be father and not a friend. Mangeto, Erik, whatever that bastard was calling himself, was never a friend to Alex. He looked too hard to write whatever personal wrongs had been done to him and that left him scorned and scarred. But his rage had infected Mystique too. Outside of Darwin...

Alex didn't like to think about Darwin.

But sometimes, he supposed it was better this way. Being alone, without any trouble that came with worrying about friends. Worrying if he'd hurt them accidentally. At least, at this rate, he had nothing to go back to America for. Dying suddenly got a whole lot easier.

Living didn't feel any simpler, though.

So the break rolled around and those canvas walls had begun to feel claustrophobic. Alex slipped, or rather, stalked, out of the Rec room and down the linoleum floored hallways, past an empty nurses desk before he burst out one of the back doors. It was marked like a fire exit. But soon his boots burst out into the fresh air and crunched over snow. The chill of winter bit into his skin through army issued pajamas and Alex swore under his breath lightly. But his words became clouds of icy crystals and vapor that disappeared quickly and let only that same bitterness he'd been feeling for months in it's wake. But anything that could of been a moment of reflection was broken by the voice that shattered his thoughts and said,

"You should be inside." Alex turned to look at her - the Nurse. She was huddled tight under that jacket again, her arms poking out through the front opening and a cigarette clasped tightly between her lips. Her entire body shook with shivers but a stern expression still lingered in her hard set eyebrows. The nurse didn't step closer to usher him in, so Alex crossed two simple steps so that he could tower above her, a glint in his eyes that was dark and threatening.

"Make me" he challenged her, and tried not to cough and splutter as this woman exhaled her smoke into the spaces between their faces. She shrugged one shoulder, and lifted the cigarette from her lips between those bony fingers that looked too worn, too breakable. Her entire frame looked too skinny, too underfed. She wasn't naturally curvy, like most of those nurses who almost busted out of their uniforms as they bustled through the corridor. Those were the kinds of nurses who - if they were still young enough - liked to tease the other boys. Like some kind of hidden, unspoken, morale boost. But this nurse wasn't like that, he could tell it from that look in her eyes.

"I'm on my break" she announced and one hand escaped from inside that jacket of hers to push against his chest. Palm flat against his torso, and a gentle shove took him by surprise, and Alex's feet stumbled back two steps, a hard frown setting his face. "You smoke?" she asked suddenly, that same hand that pushed him then pulled out a back of cigarettes. Like everything, they were army issued. Alex guessed she didn't have anyone to send her things either.

"No" he answered flatly, and the nurse shrugged again, her lips locked momentarily by the cigarette she sucked upon, breathing the fumes back out towards the ground.

"I always feel iffy. Smokin' round a burn ward," the Nurse explained, looking down to her shoes. White sneakers, comfy and easy to walk in. "Never know if the boys are gonna be okay with it... don't wanna get on the wrong side of those." and the blonde girl looked up at him briefly, taking another drag, tapped off the ashes and added, "Clearly."

The word hit Alex like a punch in the gut and he wondered how hard he'd hit her. The nurse didn't have any signs of bruising, and she'd only hit a curtain. Then again, Alex wasn't so used to talking to people that he'd lashed out at. But yet, though it tickled on his tongue, but an apology didn't push out into the air between them. Instead he swallowed it, and said nothing. The nurse shifted her weight on her feet, trying to dispel shivers that even Alex began to feel clutching at him. "I'm Annabelle" she introduced, finally, that hand outstretching again, offered out to him with an open palm, inviting Alex to shake. "Annabelle Blacker"

"Well, that explains the jacket" Alex mused aloud, but nevertheless took Annabelle's hand and shook it firmly, grasping the limb within his fingers and he swore he could of felt the bones beneath them. But she pulled her hand back and he let it go. He caught the look of awkwardness that flashed on her face as he mentioned the jacket, and quickly he added, "Just, you don't have a ring-"

-"It's my brothers" Annabelle said quickly, cutting him off before Alex could of kept talking about marriage. She took another drag and looked away from him, swallowing a lump in her throat before she looked back to him. At first, Annabelle opened her mouth to try and speak but no words came out and she closed them again. Annabelle's lips closed around the filter of her cigarette, taking one last final breath of the smoke. Alex watched the tip light up with embers of orange, before it fizzed out. She dropped the filter and with a jab of her foot, she trod the ashes into the snow. But yet, she couldn't bring herself to look up into his face and that familiar stabbing of guilty twinged in Alex's nerves, and it entangled with the grief that had already settled and turned his insides to mush. If a sinkhole could of opened up and sucked him straight back to hell, that would of been nice.

"It's alright" Alex managed to get out, finally. He cleared his throat and looked down to her, "You don't have to explain yourself to me" and Annabelle looked up at him, pulling the jacket around her tighter. The medal glinted on the front that he hadn't seen before. It must of been new. Or he couldn't of been dead all that long.

"You should be back inside" Annabelle reminded him, taking a step past him towards that door, looking up to him over her shoulder. "Don't want you back in therapy again" and a smile, almost threatened to curl at her lips. Instead, the corners twitched into some kind of little grin that proved she was at least trying to apologize.

"I knew it was a ploy to keep us quiet" Alex laughed... he laughed. Well, it was more like a chuckle. But there was a noise of happiness that had started in this throat and then left his lips. Annabelle had halted in her step, halfway through the door, to look at him with a look of subtle surprise which suggested laughter was a noise she wasn't used to. But Alex said nothing, and figured he could apologize later - if he apologized at all - and pushed her out the of the way as he barged back into the ward. Head down, eyes down and thoughts guilty.


	4. November 17th, 1972

**Havok in Vietnam  
>Chapter 4 - <strong>17th November 1972<strong>**

The sound of squeaky tennis shoes against the hospital floors was keeping Alex awake.

Rounds would be over soon - that was all he could hope for. Then again, Alex couldn't sleep the night before either. Perhaps this was grief getting to him. The group therapy sessions had stopped - maybe the nurse... Annabelle, had stopped them for him. Gotten him out of that boring hour of "talking about his feelings". Alex didn't talk about his feelings, he'd never done it. He wasn't going to start just because some guy in glasses actually bothered to put down his clip board, and six other "soldiers" looked at him with big eyes and patient expressions. Then again, Alex didn't see soldiers when he looked at the other guys in group therapy. He saw men who'd been carefully torn apart, picked away at by medical professionals. Cut open and "fixed", with that cold, calculating accuracy that doctors boasted about. Alex couldn't bare the thought of becoming like them. Of having who he was picked apart and laid bare, so that he could be made up again to fit someone else's standards. Alex Summers had been forged in strife and flames. He was hardened from being beat down by life and when he was a kid, that mutation of his was the only way he could of beat back.

But by Jesus, he was going to beat someone if those squeaky fuckin' shoes didn't stop. His fist began to clench, there was tension in his jaw. A hard stare finished his look aggravation, as his blue eyes burned holes into the curtain - as though Alex could silence the noise with just his mind. But no. He was no Charles. In fact, judging by Hank's letter, _the letter, _even Charles wasn't like Charles. Alex would rather of fallen head first into Vietcong fire than fall head first into the bottle. Not that he was against drinking. But he'd seen too many men fall into their cheap whiskey and he stood there and watched as they also fell further than they could ever climb. Alex was okay with wasting his life, and becoming nothing. But he'd rather do it, and remember doing it. He'd rather feel everything, than numb himself. _  
><em>

The squeaking stopped. Thank god. But then a pair of those same white tennis shoes - partially encrusted with mud and snow from outside poked through the curtain, clasped together with one small hand. They opened a gap in the curtain without causing the metal rings to screech as they moved along the pole that held it up. Annabelle slipped through, and brought with her the smell of a fresh smoked cigarette. She was grinning - though sheepishly. Alex's stern glare faltered to become a look of minor confusion. He watched her, taking in the sight of Annabelle in her nurses uniform - she seemed to wear it differently at night. Her hair was lose again, falling in waves to her shoulders. She seemed to be wearing less makeup, and the wash of blue from the night outside seemed to make her look softer, more serene. Annabelle had abandoned the jacket too, it must of been left in the nurses station, and the stockings she wore sat at different heights on her long legs. She looked tired... but she also looked surprisingly happy to see him.

Alex hadn't seen her for a couple days. He'd caught glimpses of her - her hair as she walked past his curtain, her foot as she walked out the same back exit he did. He'd even considered even sneaking out to see her again during his free time. He wondered if Annabelle had waited for him out there. But whenever those thoughts came to Alex he remembered that laughter, and then he remembered Banshee. He remembered Darwin. There was something in Alex adamant not to be happy, and he knew that if hanging around nurse Annabelle would make him happy, then he needed to stop seeing her.

But now she was standing in front of him, toes wiggling in anticipation. Annabelle was lingering by the door, as though any second she might change her mind and bolt out again, as though she were waiting for Alex to say something. But he didn't. With Annabelle standing in front of him, and the soft, heavy breathing of sleeping soldiers all around them, Alex couldn't find the voice to tell her to fuck off. He didn't want to cause a scene. Is what he'd try to tell himself later. That was how he would rationalize it all later, once she'd left and he was alone with thoughts. Alex would tell himself that he didn't want to cause a scene. It was bullshit, but he'd swallowed a lot of self-told lies before. One more would be no different. But it was that inspired Annabelle to take small steps closer to him, saying not a word herself even as she stood at the edge of the bed. Crouching, she put her shoes on the floor, before she climbed up onto his bed. She crossed her legs, and pushed on the centre of her dress so that Alex wouldn't of been able to see anything - not that he had quite the mind to look. Sure, perhaps if it were in some other situation, but right now, his blue eyes had locked onto hers and neither of them wanted to break apart.

In this light, with the almost soft look on her face, and the way Annabelle looked at him through her eyelashes, Alex could of almost seen how she could be compared to Marilyn Monroe. The same tousled waves and elegance in a rounded face. Nice lips, eyes that looked right through into your soul. She lacked the star's curves, and she was probably taller. But in the moment, and Alex would later deny ever thinking it, Annabelle looked beautiful. She was striking and Alex didn't want to look away, didn't want to blink. But then, somewhere three beds over, a snore tore through the silence and both their eyes jumped to look at the side in the curtain from which the noise had erupted. Whatever had been between them was broken. But it was just as well. Because when Alex thought about this later - and he would think about it later - he'd remember how much scandal Marilyn Monroe was caught up in. How much trouble she made. Alex didn't need trouble, he needed to keep his nose to grindstone.

"We... I got post today" Annabelle finally spoke, once the snoring subsided back into near silence. Alex looked at her again slowly, taking his time before his eyes found her face again. He arched an eyebrow noiselessly, encouraging her to continue, but curiosity began to eat at him;

"From who?" he whispered back to her, sitting up straighter in his bed, raising himself up from where he'd been half-laying. Her knee brushed his thigh, and that was the closest they'd been to touching yet.

"Well. My brother" Annabelle explained, and added once she'd caught Alex's confused look, "I have five brothers..." and she stopped herself, the memory returning to her as though she'd forgotten it when she'd taken off the jacket, "I _had _five brothers," Annabelle corrected and shrugged one shoulder, "But, they're not all fighting; Charlie owns a casino and just had a baby... he sends me chocolate sometimes" and with that she pulled the chocolate out of the pocket in her skirt. It wasn't a very big bar - around the length of her hand, and it wasn't very thick. HERSHEY'S was stamped on the front in silver lettering. "I figured you could use some more than I do-" _Have you seen you? _Alex scoffed in his head, but said nothing, "-but i didn't wanna just give it to you completely... not quite forgiven you from battering me about places" But Annabelle smiled lightly as she spoke which Alex took as her not being too serious. He tried to return his own grin - but Alex couldn't even bring his lips to quirk into a smirk. They twitched lightly, and he opened his mouth to speak but paused, hesitated and said nothing. He watched her a while longer; Annabelle's tongue stuck out lightly in concentration as she ran her chewed-down thumbnail across the silver of the chocolate, splitting it down the middle.

"I'm sorry" Alex blurted out finally, and the snap of chocolate punctuated his suddenness. Annabelle looked up at him again, but he didn't give her the time to speak, "I'm sorry for being such an asshole... for attacking you, and for barging past you the other day" he expanded and sighed, turning his face away. Annabelle tensed, her shoulders straightening as she thought about what he said. There was a concern - or mistrust - in her face, as though she'd heard apologies but doubted his motive. But she didn't press it. Annabelle shrugged one shoulder and looked down at the chocolate between her fingers,

"I'm over it." she said equally as bluntly, before her arm lifted and she gently pressed the chocolate against Alex's lips. The candy was sweet against the dry saltiness of his skin, and undeniably sticky. "Come on. You'll enjoy it" Annabelle enticed, smearing the chocolate against his pink lips. Alex felt that familiar urge to smile beginning to rise in his chest, and quickly he spun his head around, snapping the chocolate into his mouth. His lips felt the warmth of is fingers beneath them, and suddenly any smile he felt was replaced with the mortifying feeling of embarrassment, as it dawned on Alex that not only was the chocolate in his mouth, but so were her fingers. It never dawned on him, that he'd bitten down on her fingers pretty hard, and Annabelle seemed to show now pain as he'd done it. He watched face, and it was filled with that same confused, slightly embarrassed expression that managed to sit on his features. She'd not retracted her fingers, like anyone else would of done through instinct. Instead she looked at the situation her hand found itself in,before slowly drawing it back out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to-"

"I'm over it." she cut him off again, wiping the mixture of his saliva and half melted chocolate on her leg, before Annabelle looked at the chocolate she had in her own hand. Alex chewed quickly, swallowing it down and barely acknowledging how good it tasted.

"Annabelle," He began, wiping his lips on the back of his hand, but the nurse said nothing to stop his sentence this time. She was still looking at the chocolate in her hand, blue eyes focused on it as though it held a million secrets that no one else but she knew. But his use of her name didn't pull Annabelle's attention, so Alex tried again; "Nurse?" he asked, and Annabelle slowly drew her eyes up to look at him, her lips had fallen open to create a small "o" - as though he'd pulled her from some deep train of thought. "I'm sorry, for biting you" he apologized and carefully gauged her reaction. Annabelle seemed to be taking her time now, as though something in her had shifted. Her eyes remained washed with various thoughts and they were almost glazed over, but she nodded lightly, looking into his own blue hues again so that she could address him.

"It's fine. I didn't even feel it" she excused him again,

"Are you sure? I bit you pretty hard..." Alex pressed, furrowing his eyebrows. Annabelle seemed to push herself backwards, and quickly replied,

"I didn't even feel it" she repeated, before dropping the other half of the chocolate bar into his lap. "You deserve it more than me" she explained in ahurry, standing up and readjusting his sheets.

"But your brother-"

"I'll tell him it was wonderful, thank him, he'll never know" she explained, but didn't stop to say goodbye as she slipped back out of the white curtain that surrounded his bed. But the metal rings screeched their betrayal and Alex could imagine how her face contorted to a cringe once he heard the soft whisper of _"shit"_ leave her lips. She hadn't taken her shoes, Alex could see them as he leaned over to put the half eaten chocolate on his bedside table - the first thing that he'd put on their himself. Alex didn't mind that she left her shoes, he knew it meant she'd be back.

And - though he'd later deny it - he did want her to come back.


End file.
